From Another View
by BlueMoonMaples
Summary: It is beneficial to see things from another point of view. What truths will become clear when John finds old videotapes full of his adventures with Sherlock? A Watching-The-Series Fic. AU set post-Reichenbach.
1. Chapter 1

**Recently I have grown obsessed with Sherlock. I'm not sure how many stories there are like this, but this story is going to be a watching-the-series-fic. I will add some of my own plot lines into the chapters though, it won't just be all the episodes one after another. Where's the fun in that?**

It had been a year since the fall, but the pain was still as present and terrible as ever. He went about his regular life... Or, at least he tried to; but he couldn't forget, he just couldn't forget him.

The first week after Sherlock's funeral, his leg had begun to ache. At first it was mild throbbing and easily ignored, but it soon began to get worse. After a month he was limping so heavily that he did what he thought he would never do again.

He picked up his cane.

From that day on, everywhere he went he always had his cane in hand, using it to support himself as he walked.

There were times when he forgot about the pain in his leg, but they happened far and few between. For some reason his limp had come back worse than it had ever been before; the ache almost never ceased.

It was an ever-present pain that no matter how much he tried to forget, he couldn't. It was a hollow pain, like something was missing.

It was the anniversary, one year since Sherlock's death. He had visited the cemetery, placing flowers and a small Cluedo piece by Sherlock's tombstone. He remained there for a few minutes talking to the tombstone a little and thinking, but he didn't stay long. Pretty soon, he left, hailing a nearby cab and pulling away from the cemetery.

"Where to?" Asked the cabbie.

John was about to tell him to take him home, but impulsively blurted out, "Scotland Yard."

It felt like the right thing to do. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the seat as they drove to the station.

Donovan nodded at him as she passed him in the hall, but he didn't notice. Nor did he notice Anderson shaking his head in pity as he walked by. He ignored them all as he wandered down the hallway. He was going to visit the old police station, right underneath them. The new station had been built right on top of the old one, but you could still reach the old one by the stairs. One time Sherlock had shown it to him, the old and empty hallways. John liked it because it felt like a remnant of the past, you could feel history echoing in every corridor down there. Also, very few people ever went down there, so no one would bother him today.

John was going to take the elevator down to the lowest floor he could, then follow the stairs the rest of the way down.

Hitting the button, the elevator descended, stopping on various floors as people got in and out. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice Lestrade enter the elevator, jumping nearly a foot in the air when he spoke.

"John! What are you doing here?" Lestrade greeted him, forehead wrinkled in worry.

Recovering from his surprise he replied softly, "It's the anniversary, I decided to visit."

Lestrade nodded in understanding, he would always have conflicting feelings about Sherlock. The man's deduction skills had always been so extraordinary they were almost supernatural. Was it possible to have an ability like that? He had seen the man make astounding deductions that had seemed so real, no magic tricks or bugs or ear pieces assisting him. But the whole deal with the young girl screaming, Sherlock easily leading to the place they were hidden, and the stories in the newspapers had allowed the doubt to appear in his mind.

Though it pained him to believe it, the idea of Sherlock being a fraud seemed much more likely than him being a true genius. However, despite all of this he would still comfort John. No matter Sherlock's true abilities, John and the consulting detective had shared a real friendship. Lestrade understood what it felt like to lose someone you cared about, and had sympathy for John. Though it was little strange, Lestrade didn't question his reasoning for being in the station today.

John found Lestrade to be one of the few people he could reminisce about Sherlock with, even if sometimes it got a little bit awkward. Lestrade never argued with John about Sherlock's credibility like the others did, they simply reminisced together. After Sherlock's death they had sort of become friends. Or at least were on friendly terms.

"How have things be -" The door opened on the lowest floor and John froze in shock, cutting off his words mid-sentence.

At the end of the dimly lit corridor was a tall, thin silhouette wearing a long dark coat. The silhouette paused momentarily, popping up their coat collar in a very familiar manner before whisking around the corner, his long coat flapping behind him as he disappeared from sight.

"John, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

John barely noticed Lestrade talking he was so focused on what he had just seen. It couldn't be. He was imagining things. As the figure disappeared around the corner, all logic drained from his head as his body took over. He suddenly dropped the cane and began sprinting down the hallway, not noticing that he'd left it behind.

Lestrade gaped after him in shock, before ducking to pick up the cane and racing after John, whose limp had suddenly just disappeared as quickly as the man himself.

John rounded the corner, sprinting after the silhouette. The pain in his leg had almost completely disappeared; it was still noticeable, but rather than slowing him down it spurred him on. In those few brief seconds something small had filled in; something just enough to give him the strength he needed to run. He was determined to catch the man he was chasing.

The figure ran down stairs and around corners, coat billowing behind him. He ran through old empty hallways beneath the station, down more stairs and empty rooms, and finally down to the basement. Though his heart pounded and his breaths came quick, John still pursued the man, never breaking stride. Some instinct was urging him on as his brain tried to make sense of it. He knew he must be mistaken, it wasn't possible...

He kept running.

When he saw the figure dart into a room up ahead he felt a grim sort of satisfaction, the man would be cornered.

The room was pitch black. When he entered, he couldn't see a thing, but a long chain brushed past his face. Yanking the chain, a light bulb flared to life in the center of the ceiling, but to his utmost surprise nobody was in the room. There was a door at the other end of the room, but it was locked. They were underground so there were no windows either.

Though it seemed paranoid, John dropped to his hands and knees and felt around, searching for trapdoors.

Lestrade hurried into the room. "John!" He puffed, trying to catch his breath. "Why did you run off? How on earth were you able to run? And _what are you doing?!_"

Without looking up, John said. "I was able to run because my limp is psychosomatic."

"And why did your limp just happen to disappear now?"

John ignored him, continuing to feel around on the floor. "There's got to be a clue here somewhere." He muttered under his breath.

"What? Wait, why did you run away in the first place?" Lestrade was starting to feel a little worried about his friend.

"This is going to sound crazy..." John sighed heavily, he looked up, but avoided the eyes of the Detective Inspector. "I thought I saw Sherlock."

"John..." Lestrade's face was tense and concerned, "That's not possible, he -"

"I KNOW! He's dead!" His voice broke and he felt the tiny telltale pricks of tears in his eyes. "I know, I know, I know! But the person... He was just so familiar. Same coat, collar popped up, tall, thin... I saw him run in here... Never mind, where are we anyway?" He looked around the room. It was empty except for a small old TV, the big, clunky kind they'd had a few years ago before they were replaced by the new, fancier, high definition TVs. The TV was sitting on top of a small projector cart next to a small pile of videocassettes.

Lestrade still looked concerned about his sanity. "This is part of the old station. People haven't been down here in years."

What struck John as strange was the dust, or lack of. There were a few cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling, but the entire room was dust-free, the TV was clean, the tapes dry, and though the floor was a little grimy it was clear of any dust or footprints.

Getting to his feet he said, "Apparently someone has been down here. There's no dust whatsoever."

Lestrade glanced around at the room. He wiped a finger along the TV screen, but nothing came away on his finger.

"I know it couldn't possibly have been Sherlock," John continued, "But I _did _see a person Lestrade! The thing is how did they leave this room without anyone seeing? That door is locked and there aren't any windows in here."

Lestrade pulled out his key ring, trying each one on the door, but none of them fit.

"Are you sure you saw a person?" He asked.

"I'm not crazy Inspector. I know I saw someone." John asserted.

Lestrade sighed, "Alright, we'll have to investigate. Come on, I'll get a few other officers."

John shook his head. "No, you go, I'll stay here."

"There's nothing more we can do right now John, we'll take a look later."

"No. I'm just going to stay down here a little longer." John said. Lestrade looked ready to protest.

"Please." John said, meeting his eyes.

The Detective Inspector sighed. "Alright, don't stay here too long though. And here, you might want this." He handed John his cane, shot him one last worried glance, and left the room. His footsteps echoed down the hallway as he left.

Lestrade gone, John's shoulders slumped. He continued to search the room but found nothing. Apparently the person had a key to the locked door.

John couldn't shake off the feeling that he _knew _the mysterious person. He had seen _someone_. He wasn't crazy...

Somebody was sneaking around the old police station. But why?

His eyes fell on the TV and the cart. It was clean and so out of place. Why was it down here? He examined the TV, it looked ordinary enough, but it was plugged in. Had this mysterious person had wiped all the dust off, plugged in the TV, and disappeared? Why?

He noticed that the tapes were numbered. Each had a small piece of masking tape on the bottom with a number written on it. John gingerly picked up one of the old tapes, blowing on it to get any possible stray dust off. This videocassette was marked with the number 1. There were 6 tapes in all sitting on the cart.

He gently inserted tape #1 into the VCR, waiting with bated breath for what - he didn't know.

The video began to play...


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here is Chapter 2! It is just a short little intro into the beginning of the first video. Since each episode is so long, I'll probably divide it into 3 parts, and each chapter will feature roughly 30 minutes of an episode (except for this one and the ones that are purely my own ideas). Some things I might also gloss over in the episode when I write the chapters for them.  
**

_**Bang! Bang! Bang! **_**The video started off very abruptly showing images of military men shooting off guns. **

_Was this some sort of documentary?_ John thought.

**Images flashed across the scene of guns, dusty trenches, and men falling to bullet wounds. Then a face appeared under all of it.**

John paused, that was weird. The face looked remarkably like his own.

**More army men were shooting guns and running. The camera focused on a man crouching in the grass.**

_This looks very familiar. What is this? _He wondered.

**The gunshots continued, flashes of the blond man's face appearing every few seconds. Then the images stopped all together and the man sat up straight in bed. The camera backed up a bit and focused in on his face. It was John.**

John reeled back in shock. What _is_ this?! Why was there a tape with him on it in the middle of a so-called abandoned police station?!

**A thunderclap rumbled in the background, echoing through the video as John panted, trying to calm his nerves from the nightmare. He laid back on the bed and put his arm under his head, still breathing heavily. **

**The scene changes to show John sitting up in bed. His gaze falls unhappily on a cane propped up nearby.**

**Time passes and sunlight streams into the room. First John is shown walking around the room, then eating breakfast, reading a newspaper, and finally, sitting at a desk. He pulls out a laptop from a small drawer, revealing a gun hidden below it. Sitting there, he stares at a blank webpage with only the words, 'The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson.'**

"**How's your blog going?" A familiar voice asks.**

**The scene cuts to reveal John sitting in a rather large therapist's office. **

"**Yeah good." John coughs, "Very good."**

"**You haven't written a word have you?" A well dressed woman asks him.**

"**You just wrote 'still has trust issues'." John noticed.**

"**And you read my writing upside-down." The therapist pointed out.**

He remembered all of this. How had these been put on camera? Had someone been stalking him? Filming his entire life through hidden cameras?!

The thought seemed paranoid, but how else could this be explained. They'd shown him waking up from a _nightmare _for goodness sakes!

"**You see what I mean?" The woman asked. John gave no response. "John, you're a soldier, and it's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you."**

**John looked her straight in the face. "Nothing happens to me." He stated.**

**Music began playing as a picture of downtown London was shown. People walked by, cars drove past, and the huge TV screens were briefly shown. Then the image cut to a famous picture of The Tower of London and The London Eye. A single word appeared at the top of the screen. It said 'Sherlock.'**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

**Most of this was done myself, watching the episode and writing down the lines, but some of it was taken from this transcript at: arianedevere . livejournal 43794 . html**

**I really don't think it needs to be said as its already pretty obvious, but I do not own Sherlock.**

John stared uncomprehendingly at the screen. Sherlock? What was this? Had Sherlock left this for him? This TV and these VHS tapes? How had he gotten the footage? People didn't really use videocassettes anymore.

A icy claw squeezed his heart as an impossible thought crossed his mind. Was it actually possible? Was it possible that Sherlock had actually been a fraud? He stood there, stunned into silence as his chest tightened. Had it all been a lie? All of Sherlock's clever deductions taken from watching hidden cameras?

_No._

The thought came with a calm certainty, Sherlock was no fraud, he never had been. The belief came from deep within his core; he _knew _Sherlock was a true genius. Everything he had done, all the crimes he had solved, John knew it was all real. Even though John didn't understand why Sherlock had jumped, no one would ever convince him that Sherlock told him a lie. He had lived with the man for a year and a half, chasing down every villain within a ten mile radius, and sometimes more; he had seen firsthand the genius the man possessed. He would never doubt Sherlock no matter what anyone else said.

It could have been anybody who'd made this video, Mycroft perhaps. The man had cameras everywhere and wasn't afraid to invade personal space. John wasn't completely sure the man even knew what privacy and personal boundaries were.

Pushing all doubts out of his mind, he turned back to the video.

**OCTOBER 12TH.**

**A well-dressed middle-aged business man walks down a crowded London street talking into his mobile phone. "What do you mean there's no ruddy car?"**

**A pretty, well-dressed woman with blonde hair walked around a big office, "He went to Waterloo, I'm sorry. Get a cab."**

"**I never get cabs!" The man protested.**

**The woman looked around the office, and saw no one within earshot. Conspiratorially, she whispered into the phone, "I love you."**

"**When?" The man asked.**

**She laughed, "Get a cab!"**

_**(Later)**_

**Trembling fingers unscrew a small bottle of speckled pill capsules. One pill is lifted from the bottle. The same man from before raises the pill to his mouth, biting down on it.**

_Pills? _John thought. _Wasn't there a case involving pills?_

**NOVEMBER 26TH.**

**Two teenage boys walk down the street in pouring rain. A flimsy umbrella their only shelter from the raging weather. One boy dashes out from under the umbrella, running to the street. "Yes, yes, taxi!" He whistles, but the cab doesn't stop. "Ah! I'll be back in two minutes mate." He says to his friend.**

"**What?"**

"**I'm just going home to get my umbrella."**

John was reminded of Mycroft.

"**You can share mine!" His friend looks at him in exasperation.**

"**Two minutes all right?" The teenager jogs away, back from the direction they had come.**

**He slows down, walking home in the rain. The camera cuts to his friend, who looks impatiently at his watch before turning around to follow his friend.**

**The teenager who originally was planning to go home is now shown sitting crouched against a wall, crying. He unscrews a small bottle of pills.**

**A newspaper is shown with the heading, '18, Kills Himself in Sports Centre.'**

_Yeah, the serial killer "suicides" right? That was the first time I saved Sherlock's life._

**JANUARY 27th.**

**A woman walks through a crowded room, joining a man at the bar.**

"**She still dancing?" The man asks.**

"**Yeah, if you can call it that."**

"**Did you get the car keys off her?"**

**She holds them up, "Got them out of her bag."**

**The man smiles in satisfaction, then frowns as he scans the room. "Where is she?"**

John was slightly confused, first they sounded like thieves, now they sounded like they cared about the woman. It didn't really matter though, so he resumed watching.

**A young woman stands by her car, rummaging in her purse for keys. Looking up, she sighs and begins walking.**

**Next she is shown inside of a warehouse of sorts, crying as she looks at a bottle of pills.**

**A STUDY IN PINK **_**shows up at the bottom of the screen in white letters.**_

_A Study in Pink?_John thought. _Someone's made this using my blog for reference. Are these people actors or what?_

**A voice comes over the image, which he recognized as Donovan's.**

_Okay, maybe some of them are actors, but what about the rest. Is Donovan is on this? Is this some sort of joke? Some mean trick to play on poor little John? Is she even smart enough to do something like this?_

"**The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was a suicide."**

**Lestrade and Donovan are seated at a table in front of an audience of reporters. Cameras flash, the light bouncing off the walls. Sally looked reserved but confident, while Lestrade fidgeted uncomfortably, twiddling his thumbs.**

_Ok, this footage could have been taken directly from the press conference, but what about the rest of it? Especially the video of me in my bed and at my therapist?!_

**Sergeant Sally Donovan continues speaking, "We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles that of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."**

**There was a clamor as all the reporters started talking at the same time. One man with brown hair and a sort of weaselly looking face called out, "Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?"**

**Lestrade was clearly uncomfortable. "Well, they all took the same poison. Um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be. None of them had shown any prior..."**

**The man interrupts him, "But you can't have serial suicides."**

"**Well apparently you can." Lestrade responds lamely.**

**A different man with dark skin asks, " These 3 people, there's nothing that links them?"**

**Lestrade turns to him, "There's no link we've found yet but we're looking for it - there has to be one."**

_**All the mobiles in the room go off. 'Wrong!' appears multiple times on the screen in white lettering. The word appears in the air by each reporter's phone.**_

**Sally Donovan looks at her own phone, which also says 'Wrong!' "If you've all got texts, please ignore them."**

**The weasel faced man looked up quizzically, "It just says 'Wrong!" He says.**

_He's helpful_, John thought sarcastically.

"**Yeah, well just ignore that. If there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end." Donovan didn't seem very happy.**

**A 2nd reporter called out, "If they're suicides then what are you investigating?"**

"**As I say, these suicides are clearly linked. It's an unusual situation, we've got our best people investigating."**

_**All the phones in the room beep again, and 'Wrong!' shows up on the screen.**_

**Weasel face calls out, "It says 'Wrong!' again."**

**Donovan looks around impatiently with the slightest hint of desperation. "One more question."**

**A petite woman with red hair and glasses asks, "Is there any chance that these are murders? And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"**

"**I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides, we know the difference. The poison was **_**clearly **_**self-administered."**

"**Yes, but if they **_**are**_ **murders, how do people keep themselves safe?"**

"**Well don't commit suicide." Lestrade answered.**

**Sally looks down and whispers, "Daily Mail," just loud enough for Lestrade to hear.**

**He continues speaking, "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."**

_**Once more, all the mobile phones in the room go off. Just like the last two times, the word 'Wrong!' shows up; but unlike the other two times, Lestrade's phones beeps again. White letters appear on screen.**_

**You know where**

**to find me.**

**SH**

John stares blankly at the screen before breaking out into a big grin. He'd never realized Sherlock had that much style.

**Lestrade puts his phone in his pocket. "Thank you," he nods and leaves the room, Donovan following close behind.**

"**You've got to stop him doing that," she complains, "He's making us all look like idiots."**

"**If you can tell me **_**how**_ **he does it, I'll stop him."**

**John is shown walking through a sunlit park, short grass lining the sidewalk. He passes a rather plump man sitting on a nearby bench. The man looks up, "John! John Watson!"**

**John turns, leaning on his cane.**

It was very weird to see himself on screen. He never thought himself very photogenic, and the fact that these shots were so close up and well taken... It seemed almost like a very well done movie. Perhaps he didn't look that horrible, but who had the time and skill to make these videos with such care?

**The man hurries over, smiling. "Stamford, Mike Stamford. We were at Barts together."**

"**Yes, sorry, yes, Mike." They shake hands.**

**The man's smile gets bigger, "Yeah, I know, I got fat."**

"**No, no." John politely shook his head, though in reality he agreed; Mike did gain some weight.**

**Mike smiles again, "I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?"**

**John just looks at him. "I got shot."**

_**The scene changes to show the two men sitting on a bench, each holding a takeaway coffee cup. Time has obviously passed.**_

"**Are you still at Barts then?" John asks.**

"**Teaching now, yeah. Bright young things, like we used to be. God I hate them," he says, causing John to laugh. "What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?"**

**John exhales loudly, "I can't afford London on an army pension."**

"**And you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."**

"**Yeah, I'm not the John Watson..." He trails off awkwardly, switching his coffee cup to his other hand as he looks away. Mike gives a small cough, "Couldn't Harry help?"**

**John let out a small, disbelieving laugh, "Yeah, like that's going to happen."**

"**I don't know, get a flatshare or something?" Mike suggests.**

"**Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate."**

**Mike chuckles in surprise.**

"**What?"**

"**You're the second person to say that to me today."**

**John thinks this over, "Who was the first?"**

He smiled a small, private smile, before it promptly disappeared. If he hadn't met Mike that day, he would never have met Sherlock. Sherlock had helped him in more ways than one. He'd been so alone after returning, and with Sherlock, he had companionship and he was never bored. There was always something interesting happening when the detective was around, for better or for worse.

But if he hadn't met Mike that day, he would have been spared all this pain...

He shook his head, no matter what, he couldn't regret meeting Sherlock. As enigmatic and unwelcoming as the man was, he was the first friend John had had in a long while.

**The camera finds itself in the unusual position of being inside a black body bag, light appearing as Sherlock unzips the bag, peering inside. He sniffs, "How fresh?"**

A pang of sorrow struck his heart. He _missed _him. He missed Sherlock, with all of his quirks and rudeness, playing his violin at 3 in the morning, exploding things in the kitchen; heck, he even missed the surprises he found in the refrigerator. He missed his best friend.

**The camera cuts to show Molly walking over, "Just in, 67, natural causes. Used to work here, I knew him, he was nice." She smiles.**

"**Fine." Sherlock zips up the bag and turns to her, "We'll start with the riding crop." He gives a rather fake-looking smile.**

John shook his head, _Poor Molly._

**Next he is seen bent over the corpse, beating it vigorously with the riding crop in his hands.**

**Molly watches from the observation window. When he finishes, she walks over, "So, bad day was it?" She jokes.**

**Sherlock ignored her question, jotting down some notes. "I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes. A man's alibi depends on it, text me."**

_So that's why he had a riding crop that day_.

"**Listen, I was wondering, maybe later when you're finished..." She started to say.**

**Sherlock looks up and interrupts her, "You're wearing lipstick, you weren't wearing lipstick before."**

**Molly looks a little taken aback, "I, er... I refreshed it a bit."**

**Sherlock gives her a calculating stare before looking back at his notes, "Sorry, you were saying?"**

"**I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."**

"**Black, two sugars please, I'll be upstairs."**

**She watches as he leaves the room, "...Ok..." She says in a high, uncomfortable tone.**

Again, he felt sympathy for Molly. Sherlock could be very abrupt and quite rude. John never quite understand her infatuation with him either; sure he was mysterious and interesting, but Sherlock wouldn't make a good boyfriend for anyone.

**Sherlock picks up a syringe, bending over a petri dish. The door opens, John and Mike walk in - or limp in John's case.**

Not for the first time, John felt really odd watching himself.

"**A bit different from my day," He says.**

"**Oh, you've no idea." Mike says easily.**

**Sherlock interrupts, "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."**

"**And what's wrong with the landline?"**

"**Oh, I prefer to text."**

"**Sorry, it's in my coat."**

**John digs into his pocket. "Uh, here, use mine."**

**Sherlock looks up, "Oh. Thank you."**

"**That's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike informs him.**

**Sherlock takes the phone, flipping it open, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"**

"**Sorry?"**

"**Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"**

**John frowns as Mike smiles knowingly. "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?"**

"**Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you." Sherlock gives the phone back and takes the coffee from Molly. "What happened to the lipstick?"**

"**It wasn't working for me."**

"**Really? I thought it was a big improvement." Sherlock turns around, walking back to his experiment. "Your mouth's too small now."**

"**Okay." Molly says awkwardly before walking out the door.**

"**How do you feel about the violin?"**

**There's a pause before John responds, "Sorry what?"**

"**I play the violin when I'm thinking." Sherlock explains. "Sometimes I don't talk for days on end, would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."**

John smirked at the two smiles being offered to his past self, a very fake one from Sherlock, and an eager one from Mike. John now noticed the air of anticipation with which Mike had observed their entire first meeting.

**His past self looked at Sherlock in surprise before directing his gaze to Mike. "You told him about me?" He guessed.**

**Mike shook his head, "Not a word." He says in mock seriousness.**

"**Then who said anything about flatmates?"**

"**I did." Sherlock confirmed as he put on his coat, popping up the collar. "I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for and now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan; wasn't a difficult leap."**

"**How did you know about Afghanistan?" His past self pressed.**

**Sherlock ignored the question, wrapping his scarf around his neck and checking his phone. "I've got my eye on a nice little flat in central London, together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening, 7 o'clock. Sorry, got to dash – I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."**

**He heads towards the door, but is stopped by John's voice behind him. "So is that it?"**

**Sherlock turns back, coat sweeping behind him. "Is that what?"**

"**We've only just met and now we're gonna go look at a flat?"**

"**Problem?" Sherlock asks pleasantly.**

John snorted with amusement. Sherlock really wasn't a people person.

"**We don't know a thing about each other, I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name."**

**Sherlock gives him an appraising look, signaling the beginning of one of his deductions. "I know you're an Army Doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. I think that's enough to be going on with don't you?"**

The ache in John's heart throbbed along with his leg, it had been months since he'd heard one of those bloody rants, and though these videos were a gift, they also pained him in many ways. He would never see Sherlock again – not really.

**Sherlock strode towards the door, leaving the room before stopping and craning his head back around the door. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He clicks his tongue and winks at the same time, "Afternoon." He walked out, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.**

**John looks over at Mike, perplexed. Mike nods, "Yeah, he's always like that."**

John chuckled sadly, feeling nostalgic. His flatmate was certainly one of the most peculiar men he had ever met. He paused the video, leaning back against the wall. Why was this here? How had someone gotten videos of them, such well made close ups and camera angles? It was almost like he was watching a TV show or a movie of some sort. The idea puzzled him, and he sat there trying to figure it out for a good while.

Multiple footsteps echoed down the hallway, pulling John out of his thoughts.

"John?" Lestrade called out. "You still here?"

"Yeah."

The Detective Inspector entered the room, and John mentally groaned as the two officers he least wanted to see entered behind him. Even though he knew it wasn't their fault in the end, John still partially blamed Anderson and Sgt. Sally Donovan for Sherlock's death. They were the ones who had made the police doubt, made them attempt to take Sherlock in for questioning, and eventually leading to the duo fleeing. They added to the public's belief his friend was a fraud, and their presence in the room – where he thought he had seen Sherlock - made his blood boil. He kept himself in control, but shot them both a cold look.

Lestrade frowned, "What are you still doing here?"

"I found these tapes." John said shortly.

"What's on them?"

Once again John glared at the two standing behind Lestrade. "Do they really have to be here?" These tapes had him and Sherlock on them, and he didn't want to share their contents with these bee-brained maggot-heads. He knew it was somewhat childish of him - but these tapes were personal.

Lestrade sighed, and gestured to Anderson - who had just begun to open his mouth - to shut up. "Anderson is going to inspect the room for fingerprints, Donovan is helping."

"She isn't a forensics officer." John pointed out.

"This is a police building, I have every right to be here." She cut in coldly.

John glared, but reluctantly turned back to the TV, and pressed 'rewind' on the VCR. "I found these tapes." He said again. When the tape finished rewinding, he pressed 'play.'

**Please let me know what you think! Any suggestions on how to improve are welcome.**


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